


the sword of damocles

by dreamingstarkly



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Considerations of mortality, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, and the LOOK the LOOOK of betrayal on crowleys face, i am ended, the scene at the end of the world where aziraphale picks up the sword
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 20:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19258393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingstarkly/pseuds/dreamingstarkly
Summary: He was afraid of what Hell might do to him. He was afraid of what Heaven might do to him.He never, ever considered whether he should be afraid of Aziraphale. No, that was so far out of mind as to be practically impossible to entertain.Until it was too late.





	the sword of damocles

**Author's Note:**

> I blame every person involved in this show, all the people sharing fanfiction, and especially myself for being so WEAK and FERAL for this show.

Crowley rarely feared for his life. Or rather, he sometimes feared for his infuriatingly tetchy mortal coil -- in which he had a peculiar attachment -- but he did not frequently fear for his _life_. Demons (and angels) are made of quite sturdy stock. Discorporation was an inconvenience and demons were particularly eager to draw out the bureaucratic nightmare regarding replacement bodies. Crowley took care to manifest the regular demonic miracle to keep from being discorporated.

As for the more, you know, _permanent_ type of Death...well. Crowley made sure to keep in Hell’s good graces (well, not good, and certainly not grace) by generating just enough low-level evil in the world. But it’s only the Dark Council that can really do anything serious to him. Luckily, no matter how annoying he is to Hastur, he can’t be snapped out of existence like your average imp.

So, Crowley rarely fears for his life. Until that Something-damned angel got involved in it.

Imagine, if you will, six thousand years ago. You slither up to the eastern gate, a big ol’ thunderstorm--the first one ever, actually--gathering itself on the horizon, and one of the few beings in existence who can actually kill you no longer has a thing that can kill you.

It’s a huge relief, initially. He wasn’t exactly asked to kill the angel. It wouldn’t have been a fair fight if it came to it anyway -- Crowley always had hellfire on hand. Rather stupid of Aziraphale to not have any holy water on him as backup, but no matter. Crowley deftly focused the conversation on the _moral_ implications of the Guardian of the Eastern Gate just giving his sword away and that was that. 

Aziraphale was either too embarrassed or too kind to bring up the whole “crush serpent under thine heel” Heavenly policy, especially after that. No, in those initial millennia they both preferred to outsmart each other rather than brandish weapons.

As Armageddon bounded towards the earth like an overeager Labrador, however, Crowley became much more concerned about the implications of their Arrangement. He knew the dangers of their increased association. While it was risky partnership in the first place, years and centuries went by without meeting. That was nothing compared to being in the same city, meeting in the same park, conspiring against Above _and_ Below. Yes, Crowley’s rare existential fear got jacked up alongside the frankly annoying desire to stick around the angel _Whilst the End Times Approacheth_.

In the bundle of hours that preceded the end of the world, Crowley realized Death was the only outcome of staying on Earth. Even if he managed not to be discorporated by toxic goo left behind by nuclear war, Hell would destroy him or Heaven would get to him first. Or vice versa. It didn’t matter. Zero sum game and all that.

He was afraid of what Hell might do to him. He was afraid of what Heaven might do to him.

He never, ever considered whether he should be afraid of Aziraphale. No, that was so far out of mind as to be practically impossible to entertain.

Until it was too late.

 

* * *

 

 

Aziraphale frequently feared for his life. He has been nearly discorporated countless times and one could say that he was a little careless with his assigned body. One would think that with such an anxious personality, he would take more care not to get into dangerous situations. One might like to think that made him brave (and in fact, it does, but that would require a certain demon to buck up and give a certain angel a good talking to about the definition of bravery being taking righteous action despite fear). But one would be remiss of assuming any of this and think that Aziraphale didn’t care about his mortal body. He did, it was one of the few pleasures of earthly life and he would be very cross to lose it.  

Aziraphale did not worry all that much about permanent Death, however. He was an angel, you see, and angels are very hard to kill. That would require getting a little too close with a pillar of hellfire. And frankly, only a handful of demons can summon such a thing and most of them never came up to Earth anyway.

Until, of course, a rather cunning such demon sauntered his way onto Aziraphale’s gate. After the whole incident with the sword, the angel was quite terrified at his own stupidity for many reasons. If Heaven knew, they’d likely discorporate him. And if Hell knew, they’d take advantage of him.

So, standing on that Gate, Aziraphale feared for his life.

And yet, the serpent only teased him about whether or not it was a Good Thing to give the first humans something to protect themselves. Crawly’s benign chatter was such a relief, at first his guard went completely down. Stayed that way for a few centuries actually. And Crowley, rebranded, was actually not all that bad. Well, for a demon. And yet eventually the doubt whispered in the back of the angel’s mind.

What if this was all a ruse? What if this was a long game meant to soften Aziraphale up and destroy him in the most absolute, most cruel way? He couldn’t bear the thought.

There was a reason traitors were relegated to the deepest circle of Hell. Betrayal is an awful thing.

Aziraphale’s fear was like a sword of Damocles. Sometimes he managed to forget it, especially in those moments of laughter and wine and shared anger at the cruelty cooked up by mankind...but it never was far from mind.  

So when the Apocalypse bore down on them, the fear was easy to fall into. It was easy to cast doubt on Crowley’s intentions and his plans. Aziraphale hated himself for it. Hated the fear. Hated the selfishness that came from self-preservation. Because, in truth, it would have been easier if he only believed Crowley was planning to destroy him.

It was harder when, despite the fear, he was just stupid (brave) enough to love the demon and hope he was wrong.

 

* * *

 

Of course it was WAR who was destined to have that stupid _sword_ at the end.

There was a poetic alignment in that. Crowley wasn’t cold enough to ignore the symmetry of the whole thing. He saw Aziraphale’s expression. The mix of emotions--like they were at the Garden of Eden all over again.

When the Them destroyed the Three and the sword was left clattering on the ground, he knew Aziraphale was to take it up. It was only natural. Everything was tossed now. There was no way out. Lucifer was coming and Crowley didn’t know what to do. He watched the despair and panic and doubt race through the angel’s face.

Crowley only knew to say goodbye to the only being that he ever would want to say farewell to. At the end. Aziraphale spoke like he expected Crowley to think of a way out. He couldn’t. They were fucked.

He watched as Aziraphale picked up his sword, then turn back to him. There was a fury written on the angel’s face that struck something old in Crowley. That fear. The fear for your life when staring down your Adversary. Angels were meant to destroy demons and Aziraphale was brandishing one of the few things that could thoroughly kill him.

Crowley’s breath caught in his chest. So this was it? Aziraphale was going to kill him. Because it was the end of the Arrangement. Because it was the end of Everything. Because the whole world had gone mad.

“COME UP WITH SOMETHING,” Aziraphale spat with a venom that tore through Crowley’s blackened heart. The Guardian of the Eastern Gate raised his sword. “OR…”

 _Well_. _All things considered_ , he thought faintly, betrayal sour in his throat, _I guess I prefer it to be him_.

He waited for the blow. He didn’t even think to put up a fight against his Death.

But, the blow didn’t come.

“...or I’ll never speak to you again.”

Aziraphale’s voice broke on his empty bravado, the fury giving way to naked fear...and Crowley’s momentous despair giving way to a glorious determination. Because despite anything, Aziraphale somehow _knew_ him. The angel knew exactly what Crowley would do for him. Not for Adam, not for Earth, not for his plants or his car or even _Her_.

_My ridiculous, stupid, manipulative, brilliant bastard of an angel._

The demon snarled, gathering every once of unholy power imbued in him (and hope, oh the _hope_ ), and unleashed it to stop time.

 

* * *

 

Later, much later, after they wisely listened to Agnes’s prophecy and dined at the Ritz and got on with their new Beginning, nothing had really changed. Except some miraculous freedom. Oh yes, Crowley savored that.

Crowley was sprawled on Aziraphale’s frayed couch with a glass of scotch in hand and his sunglasses in the other. He would spin them with gusto every time he tried to counter Aziraphale’s latest ontological presumption. The light of the fire would glint off of the frames and temporarily blind the angel, much to Crowley’s amusement.

Eventually Aziraphale got tired of the antics and snatched the glasses from his hand. He raised the pair as if to jokingly smack the demon with them and Crowley suddenly had an old flash of irrational fear.

Crowley flinched with such a violence that it startled the angel. Aziraphale dropped the glasses and promptly stumbled back, his hands raised in peace and eyes wide with confusion and concern.

“Oh, my dear, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, it’s fine.” Crowley’s panicked panting did nothing to smooth the lie. “Just, ah, you know.”

Silence filled the formerly jovial space.

Crowley didn’t really think he was drunk enough for such a sensitive question, but some force of Something or nature had compelled him to blurt it out.

“Were you ready to kill me? There, at the End?”

Aziraphale gaped at him for a moment. “I beg your pardon?!”

Irritation flooded the demon then. “When Lucifer was about to burst through the ground and wipe us all out?” Crowley snapped. “You know, when you picked up your sword, shouting like anything, waving it about like you were about to...about to…” The words died on his tongue, the memory bringing back the bitter, sour taste of betrayal.

The angel was still silent and Crowley barked a laugh, hollow and dark. He cut it short, though. It really wasn’t funny.

“I thought you were going to kill me, you know,” Aziraphale finally said. Quietly and carefully. “For ages. Little thought in the back of my mind, you know? That this Arrangement was all a ruse. The...the meetings, the lunches, the books in Berlin. All to soften me up.” Aziraphale looked up at the ceiling, blinked rapidly and swallowed. His lips pulled up in a wry smile. “Easy to ascribe betrayal to a demon, especially one without any clear loyalties to his own side. I’ve been afraid for a very long time, Crowley. Afraid of you, sometimes, yes. But then I realized...oh, discorporation wasn’t all that bad. And oh, you were truly very sad to think I was dead, so here I thought, well. Maybe he isn’t trying to kill me after all. It gave room for...for the other things I thought.”

More silence.

“Oh?” Crowley croaked. “What other things?”

“Well. For starters, I gave way to hope. Hope that you felt the same way about...about Earth. About saving it. About trying. Even though Death is terrifying, that maybe it would be worth it to die for it.”

“Well you were wrong.”

Aziraphale stuttered to a stop. “I’m sorry?"

Crowley finally sat up on the couch. And then he stood up. He picked up his glasses where Aziraphale dropped them.

“It wouldn’t have been worth it to die for it,” he muttered, thumbing the glasses. “Yes, that was a clever thing you did, making me think of something new to help Adam along. But Earth isn’t what’s worth dying for. At least...not for me.”

Aziraphale was, once again, at a loss for words. “Oh. Oh, well. Okay.”

“Angel.” It was almost a whisper now, as Crowley looked determinedly at the smudges building on the black lenses. “You didn’t answer my question.”

A hand gently covered his anxious movements. He didn’t even sense Aziraphale move.

That’s angelic presence for you. For all their blustering ways. That’s how Aziraphale could lie to him without Crowley doubting him for a second. How could a demon...oh, what was the phrase that Aziraphale used?

How could he be played for such a sucker?

“Crowley?”

The demon looked up, ready to meet guilty eyes. Instead he met soft ones. Painfully soft and filled with something he dare not name.

“Never,” Aziraphale said. “I would never. Not _ever_. Not to _you_.”

“Oh,” Crowley said.

“You don’t have to believe me,” the angel went on. “I know I’ve lied to you in the past. The quite recent past, too and I don’t expect you to forgive me for not telling you about Adam either. I am sorry I didn’t trust you, I can’t change what I did. I’ll try to be better, I hope you understand that. I would never harm you, I can’t bear the thought, but I understand--the thing with the sword, I wasn’t even trying to threaten you--well, maybe a little, but the sword was just for Lucifer you see--not that it would have done any good but you were just lying there ready to just give up and saying goodbye and I wasn’t ready, I didn’t want to say goodbye, I don’t want to ever say goodbye. We’re immortal beings, anything short of--”

“Aziraphale?” Crowley said, gripping the angel's hands.

"--the heat death of the universe shouldn't be enough to rid of us. That's, like, the principle of immortality, isn't it? I'm sure the Almighty agree, and Hell--oh, Heaven--oh SOMETHING, it might very well be part of the Ineffable Plan? Couldn't it? You and me--

"Angel!" That quieted the babbling Principality. Crowley inhaled and the air tasted familiar and comforting, a scent he could pick up anywhere. “It’s you.”

Aziraphale sounded breathless, if confused. “Sorry?”

“It’s you I’d die for.”

And the demon pulled the angel to his lips.

And the angel kissed him back.

 

* * *

 

The definition of bravery is to act in spite of fear, not without it.

At that moment, Crowley and Aziraphale were the bravest beings in the universe.


End file.
